


who is this?

by Mr Numbers (venetianAnarchist)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Will, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, First Meetings, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is a Cannibal, I'm Sorry, M/M, Murder, Poor Will, Slow Burn, Texting, The author is terrible, Top Hannibal, Wrong Number AU, i mean probably, probably just a lot of fluff, there are dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venetianAnarchist/pseuds/Mr%20Numbers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Sent at 5:54] Hey. This is my new number.<br/>[Sent at 5:54] Your favourite friend. The one you're making dinner for, tonight.<br/>[Sent at 5:55] I'm up at the buttcrack of dawn because the Portly One couldn't be fucked coming in. Was wondering if you were still up for tonight.</p><p>[From Unknown at 5:56] How very rude of the Portly One. It is early, indeed, but you worded it much more eloquently. Unfortunately, I don't think you have the right number. Unless I've forgotten that I had made dinner plans for tonight? </p><p>Will frowned. Yeah, this was the wrong number, unless Beverly had suddenly garnered multiple fucks to give about grammar and punctuation. Besides, if she ever used the word 'eloquent', Will would have been concerned for her mental health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, let's just put it out there; I am a huge slut for wrong number fics and I'm deeply saddened by the fact that there are no Hannibal ones. There was only one way to amend this.
> 
> Chances are that this is gonna be updated really sporadically without any recognisable timetable? And like 80% of it will be written at night with a dog sleeping on my chest/eating my hands so I honestly need to put a, 'this is shit' disclaimer here.

On any other Monday morning, Will would still have been in bed. It wasn't even six yet, and he liked to sleep in until at least seven. That was as long as he could have, until the dogs woke him up for breakfast. As well-behaved as they may have been, he couldn't blame them for getting impatient with him. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, people always said, and this morning Will had had none. 

He'd been called into work early - far too fucking early, as far as he was concerned - to fix someone's engine. Apparently it was urgent. He'd been too exhausted and groggy to make the argument that maybe, just maybe, his precious few hours of sleep were urgent, also. 

Not that his employer would have given a fuck what Will had to say, anyway.

He was a large, beady-eyed man that looked as though he'd better suit the illicit drug industry than the small boat repair shop. There had been a few instances in which Will had considered telling him just this, but had restrained himself for the sole reason that he valued his job more than he valued speaking his mind. 

After the engine was repaired, and he was covered in grease and oil, Will sat with a hot mug of coffee and tried not to think about how ridiculously freezing it was. He'd only just purchased a new phone, one of those recent iPhones that he found a little bit tedious. The only people he really texted were Beverly and occasionally Alana, and work called him every now and again. It was only then that he realised he didn't have Beverly's number saved. Luckily, he knew it by heart. 

Or, he thought he did. Probably. 

 _[Sent at 5:54] Hey. This is my new number._  
_[Sent at 5:54] Your favourite friend. The one you're making dinner for, tonight.  
_ _[Sent at 5:55] I'm up at the buttcrack of dawn because the Portly One couldn't be fucked coming in. Was wondering if you were still up for tonight._

 With a slight wince, Will sat back against the wall of the garage and rolled his shoulders. He figured Beverly would still be asleep, and if she wasn't, it was only because he'd woken her up. So it came as quite the surprise when his screen lit up only a moment later.

  _[From Unknown at 5:56] How very rude of the Portly One. It is early, indeed, but you worded it much more eloquently. Unfortunately, I don't think you have the right number. Unless I've forgotten that I had made dinner plans for tonight?_

Will frowned. Yeah, this was the wrong number, unless Beverly had suddenly garnered multiple fucks to give about grammar and punctuation. Besides, if she ever used the word 'eloquent', Will would have been concerned for her mental health.

_[Sent at 5:58] Definitely the wrong number. Sorry to bother you._

_[From Unknown at 5:58] Not to worry, there's no harm done. May I hazard a guess that the so-called Portly One is a coworker of yours?_

Will hadn't been expecting a reply, and he raised an eyebrow. Glancing around the shop and noting that there was absolutely nothing he could be doing, he resigned himself to having a conversation with a complete stranger via text. He had to admit, it was at least slightly refreshing to see someone using full sentences.

_[Sent at 6:00] You may hazard a guess. The portly one is my boss._

_[From Unknown at 6:01] He sounds like a troubling boss. I can only suggest making your own way. I know from experience that being in charge of yourself is librating._

_[Sent at 6:02] Unless you can suggest some sort of self-employment option for a guy who dropped out of college and works in a boat repair shop, I don't like my chances._

_[From Unknown at 6:02] Have you considered going back to college?_

_[Sent at 6:04] I don't know why I'm talking to a stranger about my career options. No, I'm not going back to college. It's too expensive and it's too fucking time consuming. It'd probably kill me. Besides I wouldn't be able to handle the commute considering I live in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. Hard enough getting to work without having to worry about juggling college as well._

_[From Unknown at 6:05] You don't know that I'm a stranger. My phone number is obviously local. We could have met. We may even know each other. I am going to assume that your reasons are legitimate, and simply suggest that, instead of making any drastic life changes, you simply tell your boss that you can't come in to work at 'the buttcrack of dawn'._

_[Sent at 6:06] You give logical advice. What are you, a therapist?_

_[From Unknown at 6:06] Yes, I am._

_[Sent at 6:07] Wow. Lucky guess. You're obviously a pretty expensive therapist, then. Hope you won't charge me for the last ten minutes._

_[From Unknown at 6:08] I wouldn't dare. Besides, would that not be charging you for career counselling, rather than therapy? Technically, I am a psychiatrist, however, so I could be helpful to you in other areas._

_[Sent at 6:09] Was that a business proposal? I might consider that an overstepping of the boundaries of our developing relationship._

_[From Unknown at 6:10] Then you ought not to reply._

Will couldn't argue with that reasoning. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is that I'm terrible and yet, feel little to no remorse for low-key abandoning this fic. I could say I lost my muse or something, but there's literally no excuse for being lazy for almost a year and refusing to acknowledge this thing even existed. Because I actually want to start taking this more seriously and maybe taking prompts, I figured it'd be a good idea to actually have one completed work. Dearie me. Anyway! Hope you'll accept this piece of shit update as some sort of compensation. <3

[Sent at 12:08 PM] How long do you have to go to college to get a psychiatry degree? 

Will hadn't replied to the last message from the unknown number. Partly because he didn't know what to say - it really wasn't like Will to be bested in an inane and entirely pointless battle of wits - and partly because a customer had come in and demanded his immediate attention. 

It was only on his lunch break that he pulled out his phone once more, and found himself compelled to reply. The other person really had no reason to continue their conversation, and neither did Will, and yet here they were. 

He was just considering making a mad dash for home and finding Beverly's number, when his phone buzzed. Probably just as well, considering his break was technically supposed to be a half-hour long, and it'd take him twice that just to get to Wolf Trap. 

[Received at 12:13 PM from Unknown] Depends on what area of psychiatry you're wanting to look into. All I can say is that I would recommend any over medicine. Over a decade of study is not entirely worth the pay. 

Will frowned. 

[Sent at 12:15 PM] So you're a doctor now too, huh? I don't know, sounds too good to be true.

[Received at 12:16 PM from Unknown] Only a man without experience in either field would consider that 'too good'!

[Sent at 12:16 PM] That so, good doctor? Eating off silver plates a bit much for you?

When he didn't receive a reply for a good minute or two, Will actually found himself feeling a little bit guilty. It wasn't as though he'd intended to come off as rude, but over text, it was always hard to read the intended tone. Maybe he should say something? 

He waited another moment, biting his lip.

Yeah, he should say something else. He didn't have anything better to do, and hey, maybe if he could befriend The Doctor - as Will found himself referring to him - he'd be able to get some discounted psychiatric help!

 _That_ made him snort. Will Graham, in therapy. As if. 

[Sent at 12:20 PM] Was that kind of rude? Sorry. 

Will stared at the screen for a minute or two, until his vision blurred to the extent of near blindness, and he was forced to shake himself out of it. Probably time to actually have something to eat, he decided. 

-

At the cafe down the street, the mechanic found himself analysing the people around him. Well, for different reasons than usual, anyway. At least it was more conscious this time, as opposed to the relentless wave of information he didn't want nor need in his daily life. 

Yes, this time, maybe it was a little bit intentional. Because this time, he was wondering about The Doctor on the other end of his cell phone, if they'd ever bumped into each other on the street, ever exchanged words or glances. It made him realise that he didn't know a thing about said stranger. In fact, he didn't know if they were a man or a woman, though he felt ashamed for assuming it was the former. It wasn't that he thought women shouldn't be doctors or anything, he just couldn't fathom his particular doctor being anything but a well-spoken, all-American gentleman. 

Maybe The Doctor was in the room with him now. He flitted his eyes about, glancing from the old couple sitting by the window of the cafe, to a business man talking animatedly through an earpiece, out on the street. Another man sat off to one side, typing furiously at his laptop, glasses sliding down his nose. He looked like a bit of a prick, if Will had to judge based on his general appearance, and usually his opinions were spot-on.

The guy looked to be in his mid-thirties, like Will himself, but the stark difference between the two had Will actually fighting back a bemused smile. Will, in his grimy work flannel, grease on his hands, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Faded jeans, boots like you'd expect a mechanic to wear. Laptop Guy was blonde and poncy-looking, wearing a coat that practically screamed wealth and general pretentious behaviour. His mouth kept twisting into subtle, odd little facial expressions as he typed away, clearly very absorbed in what he was doing. Every now and again, his eyebrows would furrow, and his lips would curl, and he'd let out a small huff that wasn't audible from where Will was standing, but very obvious by the way his throat moved. 

Yeah, he was a prick, alright. 

"Sir? Are you waiting in line?" 

Will gave a small start, shoulders hunching momentarily as he came out of his little daze. The woman at the counter was looking at him with a funny smile on her face, and Will felt his cheeks burn. He bought himself an orange juice and a sandwich, and ducked out of the cafe. The liquor store on the corner beckoned him seductively, but he kept walking, resisting the temptation with an iron will. Alcoholism had cost him his last job, working in a college library, and he didn't need it to start interfering with this one. 

-

When he got back to the shop, it was immediately apparent that someone was already in there. The sound of tools clunking and irritated muttering greeted him as a warning, and he steeled himself. 

The boss had decided to show. Will hadn't really counted on seeing him today, considering it was only a few hours before he could clock out and close up shop, and now he had to drag himself through a painful interaction with the grumpy bastard. 

"Sav? That you?"

A grunt came from behind the hood of a car as Will called out, and he entered with all the enthusiasm of a caged animal. 

"Ah! Graham! Where the hell you been? Crawford's pickin' up his car in just under an hour an' I got more important shit to take care of." Paul Savinsky spoke like a gangster, looked like a gangster, and had all the morals of a gangster. And yet he was a lazy prick with absolutely no drive or charisma, which was probably why he owned a shitty car and boat repair shop, instead of anything less legal and more lucrative. There wasn't a soul that Will pitied more than Savinsky's son, poor little shit had to cope with this on the daily. 

All Will could think to himself as he set his lunch down and got to work, was that sooner or later, he'd be out of here, and he'd never have to bare witness to the portly one's asscrack ever again. Something would change eventually, he was sure. If said change wasn't Will himself crossing over into the land of the dead, he'd fucking welcome it in any shape or form. 

-

[Received at 1:14 PM from Unknown] I tend to let people know when I find their behaviour rude; yours didn't qualify. Besides, maybe I enjoy the conversation. You wouldn't believe the amount of used tissues I've had to pick up today.

Will read the message an hour or two after he'd received it, and he found himself oddly irritated that he hadn't got to it sooner. The good doctor was probably busy again, while Will himself was finally off and out of the shop for the day. Crawford had picked up his car, Sav's teenage kid was answering phones for the afternoon, and Will didn't even bother pointing out that he'd worked way longer than he was getting paid for, opting instead to get the fuck out of there while he had the opportunity. 

Once he was in his car, he allowed himself a moment to relax, and respond to the text. 

[Sent at 3:42 PM] Wow, I like a man with a backbone. Man, woman? If we're gonna be acquainted, I feel like I should know what to call you, doctor. And I feel like you don't mean the kind of used tissues that immediately come to mind.

He started the car, feeling the engine purr to life, and decided that he'd let the old thing heat up a little bit before he started the long drive home. 

[Received at 3:44 PM from Unknown] I quite like the sound of 'doctor'. Does that not suffice?

[Sent at 3:44 PM] Doctor is not a pronoun, therefor it's unhelpful. And you were talking tissues full of tears right? 

[Received at 3:45 PM from Unknown] Tears, yes. Predominantly. You can call me Hannibal. 

Will snorted and blinked a few times. He wasn't sure whether his mind went to the general or the comedian first, but he decided to settle somewhere in between. 

[Received at 3:46 PM from Unknown] And what can I call you? 

[Sent at 3:46 PM] You can call me Will, Hannibal. Would you say you're more of a Buress or a Barca, by the way?

The three bouncing dots on his screen lasted for a moment or two, and then disappeared once more. Will let out a tired sigh, switched off his phone for the drive home, and turned on the radio. 

-

The dogs were as excited as ever when he climbed out of the car, and he gave each one a scratch behind the ears once they'd calmed down a little bit. Heading inside with his work jacket thrown over his shoulder, he turned his phone on again and gave another snort of surprise. It seemed that the man on the other end was either very clever or very arrogant, and, Will decided, considering that Hannibal was a psychiatrist, it was probably an unhealthy dose of both. 

[Received at 3:52 PM from Unknown] Charm of the latter, prowess of the former. I like to think that I am unique enough to distinguish myself from both. Maybe you'd agree, if we met. 

Will shook his head, turning to the dogs, who sat patiently at his feet. Maybe he would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if Jackie boy is going to ever actually make an appearance, but I can promise that Mason will, despite seeming totally pointless in his little cameo in this chapter. What can I say, the author is not good at forward thinking.


End file.
